


Shit Ha -- Tim Riggins Happens

by Devilc



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Humor, Locker Room, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim, Landry, Locker room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shit Ha -- Tim Riggins Happens

**Author's Note:**

> The full version of the story written for Oxoniensis' Porn Battle 5 for the prompt _Tim/Landry, Locker room_. I thought the restriction was 4300 words, not 4300 characters. GRRRRR.
> 
> Set some time between 2x08 and 2x11. Thank you Brandil for the excellent and insightful beta.

Tim Riggins was the constant in Landry Clarke's sex life.

Take for example that night, that glorious, heavenly night he lost his virginity to Tyra.

She ran her hands gently over the purple and blue-black lumps on his ribs and that wine-red knot on his hip and asked what had happened. As if she had never seen bruises on a football player. Only, it seemed she'd never seen that _extent_ of bruises, so she asked.

"What happened?"

Without thinking, Landry replied, "Tim Riggins happened."

And bam! like that, the specter of Tim Riggins, the thing the two of them had been dancing around for months now, climbed in bed with them.

(Tim had Tyra first.)

(Tim was the reason it twinged every time he moved like that.)

Not enough to stop them, but to Landry it was a reminder with every thrust.

(Tim.

Tim Riggins.

Tim Riggins happened.)

~oo(0)oo~

But no, really, if he thought about it, Landry had to admit that Tim Riggins happened even before that.

Making him that sandwich. Asking him how much he got laid because of the band. Getting attached to the puppy. Snarking back at him -- up to the task of meeting Landry jibe for jibe. Showing up at the gig when nobody else did. Calling him "Lando"-- nobody had ever bothered to give him nickname before.

And then there was the almost perverse pleasure Tim took in running right over Landry back when Landry was trying to be a linebacker, before he got shifted to tight end. (And yes, Tim had a pithy one-liner about _that_, too.)

This thing. It existed.

Tim Riggins happened, Landry can't deny that.

(But can Tim? _Does_ Tim?)

So Landry just ... soldiered on and tried to pretend it didn't exist.

When Tim came back from his sojourn (a word whose meaning Landry read to him straight out of Webster's) and earned his way back into Coach's ... well, certainly not good graces ... earned his way back onto Coach's very special gopher/whipping boy/special project list, one of the first things Coach did was have Tim teach Landry the art of how not to get run over by a linebacker, but how to knock him on his ass or stiff arm him off to the side.

(To do what Tim grasped instinctively: the real world application of force = mass x acceleration.)

Tim did it in a two birds-one stone sort of way. He used Santiago Herrera as the final exam, so he could see how much the both of them had absorbed his lessons. "It's real simple, Landry, I'm going to have the ball, and Santiago's going to try and knock you on your tight end and tackle me and you're not going to let him do that, because I'll be pissed at you if that happens, but I know that Sandy there's hungry to make me eat turf for calling him Sandy." He smirked wickedly.

Santiago, who clearly didn't like that nickname, glared at Tim and flipped him the bird. And then proceeded to show Landry that he was the second coming of Tim Riggins when it came to that whole force = mass x acceleration thing.

All through the whole thing, Tim laughed and snarked and called them on their shit, busted their balls, and cheered them on when they got it right. (Though he didn't cheer Sandy on quite as loud, for obvious reasons.)

The way Tim bantered, and the horsing around, and the constant little touches and pats of encouragement ... it felt almost like flirting.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim Riggins happened even when Tim Riggins didn't exactly happen.

Santiago had given him most of these new black and blue marks, not Tim, but they ached all the same, and they were given on Tim's orders, so ....

Landry groaned in pain when he rolled out of bed on Saturday morning. Last night's game had added insult to injury, and honestly, he felt like a 75 year old man.

His father smiled proudly at him over flapjacks and eggs and suggested that he ought to "skedaddle" on over to the school's gym and see if he couldn't get some time in the locker room steambox. Landry mulled that over for a bit and climbed on his bike at 9am. (He and dad were still working on a newer car since ... the incident.)

When he got there, Landry found Tim in the weight room, clipboard in hand, taking inventory.

Tim smiled at him. "Hey Lando, you need a spotter?"

Landry winced at the idea of lifting weights. "No. Um ... any way I can get in the steambox or the whirlpool on lukewarm?" He lifted the edge of his shirt. "My aches and pains have aches and pains."

Tim's eyes raked over his torso  Landry didn't have a better way to describe what his eyes did, and he whistled long and low. "Damn, Landry. That's some serious technicolor there." His eyes finally flicked up to Landry's face. "Let's go ask Coach."

Coach went wide eyed when Landry showed him. "Fine by me, son," he said. But his voice hardened when he spoke to Tim. "And I want that steam box spotless when Landry's done using it."

"Yessir," Tim replied softly.

"How are you doing with that inventory?"

Tim held up the clipboard and pointed. "Almost done, Coach."

Coach lifted an eyebrow. "And the girls' soccer uniforms?"

"On a pre-wash soak. I hit the worst of it with a stain stick, but --"

"But nothing," Coach almost snapped at him. "You'll get them clean to both my and Coach Roberts' standards. Clear?"

"Yessir." Tim raked a hand through his hair. It flopped back in to place.

Landry cleared his throat. "Um, if I've come at a bad time ...."

"You've come at a just fine time," Coach said. "A fine time. Isn't that right, Tim?"

Tim nodded. "Yessir."

Landry decided that the wisest course of action involved keeping his mouth shut. He silently followed Tim out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

Tim didn't say anything more as he got the steam box started up. Just sat on a bench and tapped the pen against the clipboard, watching as Landry started to undress.

"Um, Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm a big boy now. I can get my shirt off all by myself and everything."

Tim piffed air through his bangs and replied in a dry tone, "You're not supposed use this thing unattended. It says so right on the side." He pointed to a sticker.

_Oh_.

Landry tried not to blush too much as Tim watched him. It wasn't like he'd never been naked in front of the rest of the guys, but this? This felt different. Something about Tim's stare reminded Landry of a hawk zeroed in on a rabbit, just waiting for the right moment to strike. He nodded slightly when Landry finally got settled (with a hissing sigh) on to the seat in the steam box, and turned it on, and Landry closed his eyes and tilted his head back, ready to float away to cloud nine, when Tim spoke over the buzz and hiss of the machine, practically in his ear: "I'll be back in 5 minutes."

"Whereabouts of football player unknown, large pink raisin found in Dillon high locker room, " Landry muttered, smiling.

"What?"

Landry repeated the joke.

Tim leaned back in, breath against Landry's ear as he spoke, "Nah, I won't let that happen to you, Lando." He turned and headed back towards the weight room.

Landry found himself jittering for reasons that had nothing to do with the agony/ecstasy of having the stiff and achy places coaxed back into working order by swirling eddies of steam.

Tim Riggins happened, that's why.

~oo(0)oo~

"Tim ... we need to talk," Landry said as he climbed out of the box and took the towel from Tim's outstretched hand.

Tim shrugged, the epitome of casual cool.

(It didn't reach his eyes.)

_Okay_.

"I'm just saying it was a little weird in here, the last five minutes. You just sitting. Not talking." And _looking_.

Tim studied him a moment before he said, "Lando, in case you hadn't noticed, the hotbox is kind of loud."

_God. Just. Fuck, that tore it._

"What is it, Tim?!" Landry snapped at him, flustered. "What do you want from me? Because  because you keep happening to me and I can't keep  just go on pretending that it's not -- that you're not -- that we --"

Tim stepped in to his space. Like kill you or kiss you stepped into his space. "Well, maybe, you keep happening to me, too, Landry," he said in a low, husky voice.

(_ohgod_.)

(This is ...)

(_tyra_.)

Tim's hand shook ever so slightly as it reached out and touched Landry's chest. His eyes were downcast, the too-long fall of his hair almost hiding the top part of his face. "You keep happening to me, Landry, and I don't know how to stop it."

Landry's voice grew raspy as he replied, "Neither do I."

Tim's eyes slowly climbed back up Landry's body, lingering on his mouth before they finally reached his eyes, and Landry started at what he saw smoldering in their hazel depths.

Tim's hand trailed up and down Landry's chest, finally snaking over his shoulder, crooking behind his neck.

Landry didn't wait for Tim to pull him in. He darted in and kissed Tim whose mouth still tasted faintly minty ... a surprise ... but why, Landry couldn't quite say. For some reason he had always thought of Tim as a Listerine kind of guy.

Tim groaned in response and began backing Landry up. Somehow, Landry managed not to get tangled up in the towel, which fell to the floor somewhere around step three. Tim did that, which made them both laugh for a moment. A moment. Because as soon as Tim's eyes locked with Landry's again, Landry could see he was all business, and it sent such a jolt through Landry that his knees turned to jello.

(Is this what kept Tyra coming back for more? Is this what made her forgive him so many times? Is this how Tim Riggins happened to her?)

Strangely enough, Landry felt no guilt niggling away in the back of his head over what was about to happen as Tim swooped in for another kiss. It felt almost like he could share this with Tyra if when they got back together again. That she'd get it.

(He needed to _know_.)

Propelled by a two legged, lush lipped, utterly ripped force of nature named Tim, Landry backed up until he hit the wall next to the equipment lockers, the coolness of it turning his skin to goosebumps.

Tim's hands clenched at his ass, slid down, tugging at the backs of his thighs and Landry understood what Tim wanted him to do, only he didn't think it would work.

"Tim, I weigh almost as much as you do, " Landry said in a ragged whisper as he tore his lips away from Tim's just long enough to speak the words.

Tim's mouth recaptured his, almost frantic, almost desperate, and Landry felt that way too. Because they needed this to happen, wanted it so bad, wanted to learn each other's 2000 body parts, spend all day like this. But they couldn't, because every moment, every heartbeat, brought them that much closer to the disaster of discovery.

But instead of strangling it, that little coil of fear which snaked its way through this ... happening ... only fed it, drove the urgency, the need.

Landry hadn't felt this alive in weeks. (_~~Since he caught that ball and turned the tide of the game~~ Since he picked up the pipe to go after that bastard._)

~oo(0)oo~

They ended up making a tripod, Landry with one leg hooked over Tim's hip, pulling him in tight as both of their hands scrabbled with the belt and fly of Tim's jeans, struggling to free him, and finally, yes, it's done, and Tim pressed into him, feverishly hot, grinding, and Landry managed to get a hand down in there, a hand around both him and Tim, and Tim jerked and shook so hard that Landry let go, but Tim hissed, "No! Don't!" and shoved Landry's hand back down and Landry finally got it the right way again, cupped around the both of them, as Tim bucked hard against him, hands gripped tight on his ass, and Landry thrust back as hard as he could with only one leg and his back arching off the wall, fucking his hand, fucking Tim's dick, and Tim buried his mouth against the place where Landry's neck met shoulder and began doing unspeakably good things with his mouth, sending electric sparks racing up and down Landry's spine.

The orgasm hit him as hard anything Tim's ever dished out. Landry's breath left him in a short sharp whoosh, and his leg gave way about the same time that both of Tim's did, and they crashed to the floor in an ungainly heap, Tim shooting come all over him on the way down.

They lay there, panting raggedly, tangled up in each other for several long moments, sweat soaked, shivering as the aftershocks hit. Until finally, with a bone deep groan, Tim extricated himself and muttered, "Jesus, Landry. Jesus." He didn't bother to zip up as he crawled back to Landry's towel, grabbed it, and silently wiped the two of them clean.

All Landry could think about was how Tim's too-long hair was matted and plastered with sweat and that he -- well both of them, really -- needed a shower.

"Are you okay?" Tim asked softly, the look in his eyes alert and clear, not displaying any of the sleepy warm bliss that flowed through Landry's body, a sensation of torpor that he couldn't quite shake off.

"Yeah," Landry mumbled thickly, forcing his tongue to cooperate.

Tim stood, tucked himself back in, zipped up, reached a hand down, and said, "You need to get a move on, Landry. Because Coach --"

The magic word. The world snapped back into focus and Landry shot to his feet. "You need a shower," he blurted.

Tim's mouth quirked with bemusement and he nodded before turning away, dirty towel in hand.

Naked, Landry made his way back to where he had left his clothes folded on the bench and slowly dressed, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He felt a little bereft and abandoned, actually. Because it seemed that Tim had just switched something off in how he went from sharing this incredible thing with Landry, this mind-blowing sex thing, to being all business again in about three seconds.

Landry was tying his shoes when Tim returned, sponge and Lysol in hand. He wore an intense expression on his face, akin to his game face as he gloved up, spritzed the Lysol and waited 30 seconds for it to sanitize before he wiped.

But then his eyes flicked over to Landry, and he smiled bigger than anything Landry had ever seen before _He had dimples!_ Landry noted with some surprise  then chuckled a little bit, shaking his head.

Landry smiled back at him.

"Take a look in the mirror, Landry."

Landry stumbled to the nearest mirror and burst out laughing. "Oh, goddamnit!"

A huge, bright red hickey peeked over the collar of his T-shirt.

And at that moment Landry's mind wrapped around just what, exactly, had happened here today.

Tim Riggins happened.

Again.


End file.
